


Candle In The Wind

by RainyMeadows



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, F/M, Feels, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Layton Kyouju | Professor Layton Spoilers, Post-Unwound Future, Songfic, Title from an Elton John Song, Unwound Future Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25269076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyMeadows/pseuds/RainyMeadows
Summary: Her favourite song comes on the radio... and the Professor can't bear to hear it and be reminded of everything he's lost. Set in the aftermath of Unwound Future.
Relationships: Claire/Hershel Layton
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Candle In The Wind

The clinking of spoons on the sides of cups, knives and forks against plates, idle background chatter, a faint radio somewhere in the corner of the room, and the gentle hissing of steam… the sounds blurred together in Hershel’s head like a thick blanket wrapping around his body.

It was exactly what he needed to soothe his nerves after the exhaustion of the past couple of days.

Police interviews. Press interviews. Questions of both needless fluff and probing interrogation.

Devastation. Rubble. Fire. Explosions.

Goodbyes.

Grief.

_Claire._

He shook his head. No need to think about that right now. No need to think about _her_ right now. He was here to relax and clear his head with a hot cup of soothing tea.

Even though the only reason he hadn’t ordered anything to eat was because he felt as though he wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

Even though he hadn’t eaten in three days.

It didn’t matter. He could eat when he felt like it. He just wasn’t hungry. The pain in his stomach was more from his overwhelming emotions than from hunger.

Pain that he really wished would _go away._

He took another sip. The hot tea poured down his throat and soothed him to the core.

Thank goodness his hands seemed to have finally stopped shaking.

One last mouthful and his cup was empty. He set it down, took a deep breath and sighed into his hands. Keep calm, he told himself. Just keep calm, Layton. Keep taking deep breaths and don’t let your heart start pounding again.

Don’t think about everything that happened. Don’t think about it. Most importantly, don’t think about _her._

A gentleman doesn’t make a scene in public, after all.

He was going to be alright.

He was going to be fine.

He was going to be _fine._

He could still hear the radio somewhere behind the conversations of other customers in the café. A new song had come on. A piano tune…

…that sounded familiar.

No. It couldn’t be, could it?

_Goodbye, Norma Jean…_

Oh no.

_…though I never knew you at all…_

Not here. Not this song.

Not _now._

_…you had the grace to hold yourself  
while those around you crawled…_

Deep breaths, Hershel. Cool your mind. Swallow the lump in your throat.

Don’t cry.

Do _not_ cry.

_…they crawled out of the woodwork  
and they whispered into your brain  
They set you on the treadmill  
and they made you change your name…_

It was no good. He could already feel tears brimming in his eyes and when he tried to draw breath, it caught in his throat as a choking sob.

_…and it seems to me you lived your life  
like a candle in the wind…_

He buried his face in his hands. The least he could do was spare other customers from seeing him in such a sorry state.

_…never knowing who to cling to  
when the rain set in…_

He had to go.

Had to keep everybody else from seeing him like this.

_…and I would’ve liked to know you  
but I was just a kid…_

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and got up from his chair.

_…your candle burned out long before  
your legend ever did…_

Hershel stepped out of the warm café and the cold breeze slammed into his face like a tombstone. He clutched his jacket tighter around his body as he walked down the street, his feet crunching on the fresh snow as he hurried in the direction of his home.

That song had been Claire’s favourite. They’d both enjoyed it, but she more than him. When asked why, she had replied that she found it sweet. That there was something immutably kind about mourning the loss of a person whom you’d only ever wished you could know.

After all, there were some people who never had anybody to grieve their passing.

That wasn’t true in her case. Claire was beloved by everybody she’d ever known. He was only one of least _three_ people who would gladly have died in her place.

He kept his head down. Made sure nobody could see his face. Made sure nobody could see the tears he could feel stinging his eyes.

But the song continued playing in his head.

_Loneliness was tough…  
…the toughest role you ever played…  
…Hollywood created a superstar…  
…and pain was the price you paid…_

He blinked and wiped his face again with a sniff. Not here. _Not in public._

_…and even when you died…  
…oh, the press still hounded you…_

But nobody had ever hounded her. Nobody had even noticed her. She was barely a footnote in any of the papers that had reported on the incident.

Nobody knew what had happened to Claire Foley.

_…all the papers had to say…  
…was that Marilyn was found in the nude…_

…and nobody had thought to check that he was alright.

Luke had asked, of course, and his family had sent their condolences after the sweet boy had told Clark and Brenda about everything that had happened, but they were the only ones who had spared a thought for him. Everybody else who’d ever tried to speak with him since then had wanted to know how he’d done it, his opinion on Dove and Allen, why he supposed they had done the horrible things they’d done…

None of them had ever considered _his_ feelings on what had happened. None of them asked if he had lost anybody in that catastrophe or whether he had been injured.

He was alone.

Completely alone.

_…and it seems to me you lived your life  
like a candle in the wind…_

He had to stop himself at every corner to keep from walking into traffic, although part of him wouldn’t have cared too much if he’d been run down and killed in the street.

Perhaps if he could see Claire again, he could apologise for not being able to protect her.

_…never knowing who to cling to  
when the rain set in…_

And who could he turn to? Who could _he_ cling to when the rain set in?

He couldn’t turn to Luke. The poor boy deserved better than to have to listen to his mentor’s struggles, especially when he was so young. At only thirteen, what could he possibly do? How could he possibly help?!

And Clark and Brenda were going to be leaving soon, so he didn’t want to sour their friendship by letting his pathetic state be their last memory of him.

_…and I would’ve liked to know you  
but I was just a kid…  
…your candle burned out long before  
your legend ever did…_

He was alone.

It was better that way.

Hershel wiped his eyes again as he climbed the steps to his front door, his fumbling hands needing three attempts to get the key into the door, and he stepped inside as quickly as he could and slumped against the now-closed door.

He slid down to the floor, finally shut away from the world, and buried his burning face in his hands again, no longer able to stem the flow of warm tears and agonising sobbing that wracked his body.

_Goodbye, Norma Jean…  
…though I never knew you at all…  
…you had the grace to hold yourself…  
…when those around you crawled…_

There hadn’t been anything he could do. Even if he’d held her, refused to let her walk away, she would have faded out of his grip and dissipated into the snow.

He couldn’t save her.

He had failed her.

_Goodbye, Norma Jean…  
…from the young man in the twenty second row…  
…who sees you as something more than sexual…  
…more than just our Marilyn Monroe…_

He curled into a ball, arms rested across his knees, hid his face, and kept crying. He couldn’t even stop himself anymore. His face burned, his eyes were stinging, his stomach ached and his throat was raw, but he just couldn’t hold it back.

Every time he thought he could, her face flashed through his mind again, her voice bidding him goodbye for the final time as she spared him the pain of seeing her disappear.

Why, of all the people who could have suffered such a horrific fate, did it have to be her? Why couldn’t it have been Hershel instead?!

_…and it seems to me you lived your life  
like a candle in the wind…_

He wished he could fade away as well. That he could tell her, one last time, just how much he loved her and how much he would happily give just to see her happy…

_…never knowing who to cling to  
when the rain set in…_

Something was poking him in the hip.

He shuffled and pulled the envelope out from under his body. The handwriting was terrible, but he could just about see that it was addressed to him.

He opened the envelope and looked inside.

It was a pendant. A small, simple stick of crystal that cast a faint blue glow on his fingers, a length of dark leather cord secured to it via a tight silver hoop.

It wasn’t the only thing in the envelope.

He set the pendant aside and pulled out the note.

_I can’t be sure what happened on that terrible night, but please know  
that you are loved. You are wanted. You are not alone. It will take time, but the  
pain will fade._

_You’re a strong man. You will be alright._

_With love,  
\- D_

It took three rereads of this simple little note before the reality fully soaked in.

He _wasn’t_ alone. He truly did have others out there who cared for him, who thought of him and would welcome him with open arms when he was ready to return to them.

Claire would have wanted the same for him, wouldn’t she?

_…and I would’ve liked to know you  
but I was just a kid…_

He didn’t know where this pendant had come from, but he knew he didn’t want to lose it. His trembling fingers couldn’t fasten its hook right now, but…

_…your candle burned out long before  
your legend ever did…_

He hugged the stone to his chest and, in spite of the unbearable pain still burning his body, he continued crying.

_…your candle burned out long before  
your legend ever did…_


End file.
